


Lessons in Love

by LateStarter58



Series: Sarah's Smutty Notebook [11]
Category: High-Rise (2015)
Genre: F/M, Period Typical Attitudes, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 06:52:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17038850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: A student nurse catches the eye of the new Physiology professor and he gives her some off-curricular tuition...





	Lessons in Love

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote this in response to a request, I had yet to see the movie of High-Rise, but I had read the book. To avoid any faux pas, I set this some time before Laing moves into the building. My primary source for this story is my own recollection of that period: I was a student nurse in the UK in the mid-1970s. It was a very different time – unprotected sex wasn’t unusual, not least because many of us were on the Pill and the first cases of AIDS were only just being reported; ‘women’s lib’ was still rather a counter-culture concept, an intellectual idea and largely unknown in the male-dominated, highly chauvinist medical establishment. And nurses still actually looked after patients, made beds, wiped bums, washed faces… (it seems that now there is something called ‘the nursing process’: Better with a spread sheet than a bed sheet…). One thing in this story is taken 100% from my life: I was at the lecture the consultant psychiatrist gives. Sadly, I am not as brave as Sally - I expressed my shock by getting the giggles with my friend, which got us both into trouble.

The flint-grey building crouched in the soft rain, squat and old, defiantly challenging its newer and larger neighbours. The walls of mid-nineteenth-century brick glistened in stark contrast to the ten-year old pale concrete of the hospital to one side and the shiny glass and steel of the brand-new medical school to the other. Eventually the Health Authority would get around to finding somewhere newer and better for the student nurses to reside, but for now they made do with this, the crumbling, cockroach-ridden last vestige of the original buildings that had once housed the sick of the area.

Sally stood by the window of her narrow, crowded, untidy room. She had let her mousy hair down from the wooden clasp that held it away from her shoulders when on duty, and she had changed from her white uniform dress and cap into an old pair of jeans and a Che Guevara t-shirt. She was holding a warm cup of something calling itself ‘coffee’; it wasn’t very nice, but it was all there was in the communal kitchen and it served to revive her flagging energy reserves. Behind her on her bed were her books, and she needed to read the chapters on psychiatry and psychology before the next day. But she feared that if she sat down she would fall asleep. Second-year students were supposed to get at least one day off between placements and study blocks, but not her, not this time.

Through the wall, or perhaps it was the floor, she could hear ABBA, singing _Knowing Me, Knowing You_ from another girl’s room. Sally hated them, for no good reason other than their outfits, which she found absurd, and what she saw as the fluffy pointlessness of their music. Give her Wings or even ELP; she was highly catholic in her musical tastes, just as likely to have Beethoven as Black Sabbath or Leo Sayer spinning on her portable record player. But it had to _good._ In order to blot the unwanted sound out, she reached for the top LP on the pile – _Dark Side of the Moon –_ and put it on.

She resumed her place, looking out at the glass front of the med school building, which was rendered totally opaque by the last watery rays of the evening sun peeking through the clouds. Shiny and pink, it looked futuristic, like a set from the latest sci-fi film, _Star Wars._ You could see through the glass at night, if the lights were on inside, but not when the sun shone directly onto it like now. Tomorrow morning she would be behind a desk in one of the lecture rooms over there, bored to tears no doubt: reports of Dr Mackintosh’s teaching style were not encouraging. The Nurse Tutors were bad enough, but the med school lecturers were often openly resentful of having to teach nursing students, however briefly. She allowed herself a few more minutes, letting the soundscape of Pink Floyd drift over her mind, before the alarm clocks at the beginning of _Time_ poked her and she knuckled down to some study, ahead of the next day.

Across the mess of untended flowerbeds and tarmac, on the first floor of the medical school, Dr Robert Laing watched from his office as the pretty nurse turned away from her window and disappeared from sight. His expression did not change, but he felt a little pang of regret. He had been enjoying looking at her, safe in the knowledge that she could not see him through the state-of-the-art glazing the University had installed. It was not a sexual act – she did not appear in a state of undress, to his chagrin – but just a pleasant way to pass a few minutes, rather than returning to the lonely silence of his house.

Gathering his briefcase and trench coat, Laing set off for his car. The rain had eased to a light drizzle as he wove his way through the lines of parked Fords and Vauxhalls, past the Dean of Medicine’s MG and the Pro Vice-Chancellor’s Jag to his own metallic-brown SAAB. He grunted in satisfaction as he slid into the driver’s seat, secretly imagining himself a pilot as he fastened the seatbelt.

His ex-wife was right – not so very deep down, he was still a little boy; his medical degree and his new post teaching physiology could not change that.

******

Breakfast was always one of those times that reminded Sally of her place – on the edge of things, never quite ‘belonging’. She sat alone at her table in the staff canteen, greeted by passing colleagues but not joined; smiled at but not spoken to by acquaintances; not actively avoided, but rarely sought out. Such was her lot, always had been and she didn’t mind. She was just a little too old for her age, a bit odd, a touch too eccentric to be popular or in the ‘gang’. She wasn’t unhappy, but it made for some lonely times.

Glancing up at a noise, she locked eyes with a man sitting a few rows over. He was very good-looking, in an aristocratic sort of way. He had wavy fair hair, and was dressed well, so he had to be from the med school – no junior doc ever wore quite such a good suit. Sally didn’t recognise him, and she was pretty familiar with most of the medics who used this canteen. But the most striking thing about him was the intensity of his gaze. He did not look away in the usual English fashion, nor did he smile. He just kept on staring at her, and it was more than a little unsettling.

The moment was gone when some ambulance crewmen she knew shuffled past and then decided to sit at her table. They began to regale her with delightful accounts of the goriest and most disgusting things they had seen in the time since they all last met. By the time she could look again, the man was gone. Putting him out of her mind, Sally bid the crew and their tales of maggots and exposed bones farewell and picked up her books, ready start her week of lectures at the med school.

******

“So, in a way, it could be said that the fire did that patient a favour.”

Shocked, Sally looked at her closest neighbour. Had the psychiatrist, in his lilting North-East Scots brogue, really just suggested that an elderly woman with dementia was _better off burning to death than living_? She looked back at the small man in his tweed three-piece suit perched on the edge of the desk at the front of the room. He had a look of smug satisfaction on his face, obviously pleased at the stunned silence his assertion had caused. He scanned the faces of the young women before him, apparently challenging them to disagree. As usual, it fell to Sally to be the one to stick her head above the parapet.

“But surely, Dr Mackintosh, dying in a fire is not a pleasant death?”

“Better than rotting in a care home, Nurse…er…”

“Edwards.” Sally sat a bit straighter in her chair, feeling the balance shift in the room. “Are you seriously suggesting that being burned to death in a cupboard, terrified and in agony is a _good thing_?” A little rumble of agreement bubbled up around her. They had all been thinking that, but only she had the nerve to say it aloud.

The lecturer stood up and cleared his throat, clearly discomforted by the reaction. “Well, er, no, not exactly _that…_ But who wants to end their days in a chair sitting in their own mess?”

“Nobody, sir, but that’s where we nurses come in, surely?”

******

Lunch that day was not taken alone; for once, everyone wanted to sit at Sally’s table. Fortunately the senior staff had their own dining room, so she was not forced to endure the glares of Dr Mac once she had left his teaching room. But other staff from the school did share the canteen, and it soon became clear that word of her spat with the old dinosaur had got around. As the lecturer in Psychiatry was not universally loved, Sally was on the receiving end of many admiring glances. She found it gratifying.

Laing had been in the common room when Perkins from Anatomy had come in, bursting to tell someone his gossip. Apparently old Mackintosh had been taken apart by a second-year student nurse in a lecture, something that pleased everyone else on the staff, it seemed. Robert barely knew the psychiatrist, but he was intrigued, nonetheless. And when Perkins pointed the girl out, ahead of them in the queue for lunch, he watched her just as he had from across the way. Students on study blocks wore mufti, and he admired what he could see of her body under the gypsy blouse and wafty skirt combo. Following her and her group, and finding an empty seat at the table next to hers, Laing sat down with his lunch, watching and listening.

She was not eating much herself; her lunch remained largely ignored as she talked incessantly to her companions. She was passionate, opinionated, and angry: he found her fascinating. Such burning intelligence in one so young was deeply attractive to him. He was amused by the contrast with her lonely breakfast – clearly her outburst had won her new friends. He observed how her mouth moved, how she waved her hands as she spoke, sometimes banging a fist down to make her point. He only heard part of what was said in the clattering cacophony of the room, but it was obvious she took no prisoners.

He liked that.

As she stood to leave, she caught Laing’s eye. Before he could stop himself, he smiled at her. She returned it, blushing a little. One of her friends must have made a remark, because she slapped the girl’s arm playfully. But as she left the canteen she turned her head to glance at him once more.

“Who _is he?”_ Sally asked her classmate Emma as they crossed the access road on their way back to the medical school.

“Oh, that’s the new Physiology prof. Isn’t he dishy? His name is Laing. Dr Robert Laing.”

Sally snorted. “ _Doctor Robert_? Like the song?” She pondered how that intense stare had made her feel at breakfast, and then again just now. He was gorgeous, but then, so were loads of docs. And nurses were viewed as fair game – even she, otherwise ignored Sally – got chatted up in clinic rooms on night shifts or in the staff canteen when all was quiet. _Christ_ , the parties she had been at! Not to mention the bussing of groups of them over to Royal Navy ships in dock, or the RAF station an hour away.

The afternoon’s lecture on mental disabilities passed without incident, but then this teacher was a woman with rather more enlightened attitudes and no reservations about lecturing nurses. Such moments, when she caught a glimpse of the sunlit uplands of the future, buoyed Sally up. One day it would be like this all the time. One day.

As she left the room at the end of the lecture, she was surprised to see Dr Laing’s tall lean frame propped against the wall in the corridor, apparently waiting for her. When he spotted her he stood up straight and fixed his eyes on hers in that unnerving way of his. Still feeling brave after her defiance of the morning, Sally walked over to him.

“Can I help you with something?” She saw his serious expression falter a little. She held out her right hand. “I don’t think we know each other. Sally Edwards.”

“Laing. Robert Laing.” He took her proffered hand; he squeezed gently, but perhaps just a little longer than one would normally do in polite society. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee or something?”

Sally nodded, trying not to look too eager. “Thank you, yes.”

As he walked over to the table in the canteen with their drinks, Sally found her eyes drifting to his left hand. No ring, not that that meant anything. And she was so attracted to this man that she was probably past the point of caring anyway. She watched approvingly as he folded his long body into the plastic moulded chair opposite her. His suit was mid-grey, quality, in the very latest style. His white shirt likewise, with a smart red tie, not too wide, but enough to show he was fashion-conscious. He smelled good too: not the cheap cologne of some men she knew, this was as classy as everything else about him.

_What on earth does this bloke want with me?_

“I heard about your, er, confrontation with Dr Mackintosh.”

“Oh that. Yes, well, I didn’t mean to be rude, but what he said was just wrong.”

Laing cocked his head. “What exactly did he say?”

Sally recounted the debate, and was pleased to see that Laing agreed with her. “So is that what you wanted to know, Dr Laing?”

“Robert. Please, call me Robert.” He hesitated, suddenly unsure. This girl was no pushover, no empty-headed bimbo. He could feel his cock hardening already, just being this close to her. “No, that isn’t all. I’m new here, and I don’t know that many people yet…. Anyway, I wondered if you would like to go out with me. I hear there is a place in St Aidan’s Street where they have live music tonight.” He looked at her, the hopeful expression on his face taking ten years off his appearance.

Sally reeled, almost choking on her coffee. _He was asking her out? To that fancy restaurant in town?_ She felt her face getting hot, but a still small voice was speaking: _Go for it, girl._ Summoning up that confident, sophisticated person she always pretended to be - inside her head - she nodded. “Thanks, yes, I would.”

“Oh that’s great. I’ll pick you up at seven, alright?”

“Sounds OK… I live here, at the Nurses’ Home.”

“I know.”

*****

His car was large, luxurious to her eyes, warm inside and smelled of his cologne. The food was fancy, expensive. Without consulting her he ordered a bottle of wine and she loved it. Sally had left all her feminist principles back on the floor of her room with her floaty day clothes. All she could think about, all her mind could process was _him_ : his charming manners, his handsome face, and his soft hands. Eyes, blue and dark at the same time, his hair a little shorter than was the current fashion, but suiting his overall style so well. And his voice. He could have recited the menu and she would have listened intently. As it was, he talked about his work, food, wine and music, and she found herself agreeing with him, just to keep that sexy mouth moving and those dark, chocolaty tones flooding her ears.

“Don’t you like the wine?” His eyebrows were raised. Sally looked at the glass of rich red liquid.

“Oh no, I mean yes, I do like it. I just forgot! This steak is so delicious.” The pepper sauce was a novelty for her, and she was relishing every mouthful. She took a quick glug from her glass.

Laing laughed softly, his eyes taking her in. She was an enigma to him, this Sally. Intellectually so sharp and politically aware but still she seemed, socially, quite awkward: naïve, almost. She knew De Beauvoir, Greer and Steinem, but apparently had never eaten a good steak or tasted claret. She was beautiful, not just ‘pretty’, as he had thought when he had spied on her from his office. There was a mind in there, one that he wanted to explore, but she had allowed him to dominate the conversation this evening. Would that naiveté extend to her sexuality?  Was she a virgin? The thought titillated him, although he judged it unlikely. She seemed hesitant in his company, nervous but obviously interested. She was a _nurse_ , after all, and when a girl let a man buy her dinner, they both knew how the evening would end.

After the food was gone and the Irish coffee glasses were mostly drained, the little jazz trio in the corner began to play smoochy music and a few couples took to the floor. Robert stood and held out his hand to Sally. She rose quickly, desperate to be in his arms. Praying her hands would not be too sweaty, she allowed him to guide her to the centre of the little space in front of the stage. She rested her hands on his shoulders, feeling the heat beneath her palms. Robert wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her gently against his body, causing a thrill of trembling to go through her.

The saxophonist began to play the haunting melody of _Nature Boy,_ as Laing moved his long legs against hers, the feel of his trousers against her tights making her centre very hot indeed. His hands were moving very subtly, one up, to press her chest into his, the other down, to teeter just above the swell of her backside. Sally could feel his erection through the fine fabric of his suit and her own short skirt. She wondered briefly if this was a good idea. This man was much older than her, and newly divorced, as he had revealed during dinner. He was also intimidatingly sophisticated. She was no blushing maiden, but neither was she very experienced. As if he were reading her mind, Robert lifted one hand to her face, tilted her chin up and kissed her softly, chasing all her doubts away.

He tasted of smoke, coffee, whiskey and wine. His tongue teased her lips, dipped into her mouth, making a little moan emerge from her. She felt him smile, then withdraw to look at her in that intense way of his. The song was coming to an end, and as it did he took her by the hand and they left the floor.

The drive to his house was short and full of tension. Every time he changed gear, Robert would allow his hand to brush against her thigh. She shuddered at his touch, so aroused by him that when he drew up and killed the engine she was barely able to breathe.

“Will you come in?” he asked, disingenuously. They both knew she would. Instead of answering, Sally opened her door and got out, Robert swiftly joining her on the pavement, taking her arm and steering her up to his front door. He leaned down before he unlocked it, capturing her mouth in a passionate kiss. This time she allowed herself to fall into him, melting with desire. Not one of her previous lovers, a handful of sweaty boys and the odd older, smoother man, had made her feel like this. She wanted to tear his clothes from his body.

Once inside the austerely decorated hall, he wasted no more time, guiding Sally to the stairs, throwing her coat over the bannister atop his, and wrenching his tie off. As they reached the landing he grabbed her roughly and tugged at the bow of her blouse. Their mouths were locked and she tried to undo his shirt while he yanked her skirt up to rub his hand over her sex.

“Fuck…”

“That’s the idea, darling,” he quipped, finding the top of her tights and sliding his hand inside to touch her wetness. “Oh, there you are, all ready…”

Sally moaned as he teased her folds, and hurried to undo his trousers, now straining with his hardening cock. Robert walked her backwards through the doorway to his bed, removed his hand from her knickers and finished undressing her. He wasted no time, throwing her clothes on the floor, then his own. She stood, feeling vulnerable as he pulled her hands away from her breasts and mound. The light was low but enough to see by.

“Let me see, darling. Oh yes, lovely.” He dipped to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, eliciting a gasp from her. He was still wearing his boxers and Sally was alarmed by the way they were tenting – he looked and felt enormous. Overcoming her fear, she reached to touch him again through the cotton. He hissed and groaned as she stroked him through the cloth. “Oh god, let’s just…”

He pushed her down then, onto the bed, and swiftly removed the final barrier. A cock of massive proportions bounced up and hit his flat stomach. Sally was half-terrified, half-excited. She had seen things like that in hard-core mags, but had no idea a real man could actually… Then she realised he was between her legs and _this was really happening._

“Robert, oh…I mean. Wait…”

He stared at her, panting, eyes wild with lust. “What? You can’t say ‘no’ now!”

“No, I want to… I just, you’re so big.” She felt tears welling up. “I’m a bit scared, that’s all.”

He smiled wickedly. “Are you a virgin?” She shook her head. “Then you’ll be fine. Better than fine. “His grin widened. “You’re in for the time of your life, darling.”

He was hovering over her, his breath washing onto her face. He stroked himself a few times, then he rubbed the tip of his cock in her juices, before he plunged into her with one fast movement. She shrieked at the suddenness of it, but felt no pain, only an unaccustomed fullness. She opened her eyes to see him grinning at her.

 “Feel good?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice. It was _amazing_. Then he began to move and she thought the top of her head would fly off. He snapped his hips at the end of each stroke, he squeezed one boob, sucked the other, then bit them lightly. He licked her neck and face, he moaned, he talked dirty, he did so many things she had never known were possible. He pinched her clit as he thrust, making an impending orgasm gather in her belly.

And then it broke over her and she screamed his name. She felt her limbs go numb and limp as he slowed a little, allowing her to ride out her climax, before he renewed his onslaught, soon driving in so hard and so far she feared he would damage her. One last thrust and he collapsed onto her, sweaty and breathless, his mouth on her neck, groaning loudly.

“Shit. That was good.” He lifted his head. “Was it good for you, darling?”

She had no words. She had not realised sex could be like this. Every time before it had been a matter of some fleeting pleasure for her in the foreplay, but then the man would get fed up and move on to ‘sticking it in and jiggling it about a bit’ (as the comic had it), before reaching his climax. Sally would lie in the wet patch, feeling frustrated, listening to him snore – or leave.

Robert kissed her tenderly, then pulled out carefully and lay down beside her. Sally thought she should say _something_. “That was, wow, Robert, _really_ nice.”

He laughed softly. “Good. Glad to hear it. Come here. ”

She rested her head on his firm chest, playing with the few hairs there. Cuddling? Another first. This was turning out to be quite a day “Thank you. That was special.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I think you came…?”

“I did. Yes… It was…intense.”

“It’s only fair.” He pulled her a little closer, his arm around her back so his hand rested on hers, and kissed the top of her head. “Will you stay the night? I can take you back early in the morning.”

“I’d like that.” Then it occurred to her and she sat up. “We’ve got a physiology lecture tomorrow… is that…?”

He grinned wickedly, nodding. “Yes. That would be with me. And you, Nurse Edwards,” he stroked the underside of one breast with a finger, ” _you_ are getting some extra practical experience tonight. Now, on your stomach, darling.”


End file.
